


Who are we apart? (of)

by Rosencrantz



Category: City of Heroes
Genre: Adventure, Gen, The lost, casefic, mental manipulation, praetorians are not present, rikti
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 08:53:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20525300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosencrantz/pseuds/Rosencrantz
Summary: Sister Psyche is dead and she left two sidekicks behind to carry on.orAurora Borealis: "Are you going to help me at all?"Malaise: "Absolutely not."





	Who are we apart? (of)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gammarad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gammarad/gifts).

> Thanks to Vali for the beta!
> 
> **Timeline notes**: This takes place after Sister Psyche is killed in Who Will Die and also after Lord Recluse Strike Force. I also had Malaise's incident with the Malleus Mundi take place between the Calvin Scott Task Force and the Lord Recluse Strike Force.
> 
> I have chosen to just avoid the Praetorians in general because Mother Mayhem is a whole nest of worms.
> 
> Sister Psyche wasn't a bad person, but she was a questionable telepath in the fine tradition set out for us by Professor Xavier.

Shalice Tilman was dead to begin with.

For Paragon City, that meant another icon was gone and the world was a little darker.

Aurora Scott and Jean-Pierre Lourdin dealt in their own way, separate from Shalice Tilman’s other friends and loved ones. They’d lost friend and mentor. More than that, she would never ask anything of them ever again. 

But beyond the loss of Sister Psyche, their other moments of healing intertwined, crossing together like knit yarn.

For instance, they had the same physical therapy sessions, after their run-in with a group of villains Lord Recluse sent after the Vindicators. Working their rusty body parts back into fighting shape, goading each other to keep going past the point of giving up. Jean-Pierre knew just how to get under Aurora's skin and vice-versa. After all, they'd once been together in one psychic jumble. 

It worked for them. As teammates, they didn't quite trust each other. Aurora knew what was inside Jean-Pierre's head, and Jean-Pierre, Aurora knew, had never forgiven her for her part in Sister Psyche's 'therapy'.

Physical therapy was over for the day, however, and now Aurora was at the Zig in the mental ward, sipping a stiff cup of 'calm down' tea. Jean-Pierre was with her, having tagged along on the ride over. The 'calm down' tea wasn't working. He helpfully offered her a flask (garish, with a baroque pattern of roses) of _something_ to top up her tea. 

He always came to her outreach sessions for the Lost these days. They absolutely did not talk about why.

They met in one of the mental ward’s visitor rooms, with soothing paintings and posters listing prisoner rights. She was sunk deep in one of the badly stuffed chairs.

She’d done individual counseling before the group therapy, and there'd been a new group of recently arrested Lost waiting for consent to treatment. The Lost’s burden of psychic trauma had worn on Aurora, but the 'true believers' were the hardest. This group was full of them. It was her job to sever their minds from the Rikti influence, so they could enter the path of healing. 

These didn't want to. The leader of this cell, a massive monstrosity named Inst'Igat, had objected. A lot.

"That was a shank, hm?" said Jean-Pierre, taking a swig from his flask after she refused to let him add any to her tea. "That's not what _I_ called it, back when I was doing time in France."

"Don't start," she said, taking another deep sip.

"You sure you don't want any? It's the good brandy," he said, waving the flask.

"I'm not getting blitzed before I do therapy, Jean-Pierre. I need a clean mind to--"

"Rearrange brains?" he said. "You know, being ten sheets to the wind would help you with mine. I'm sure Shalice was completely wasted when she did her hack job."

Aurora shot up a hand to silence him. "No."

"Good, remember how much you want to _mind_ your own business with these Lost ones," he said. He took another swig of his flask, then made it disappear somewhere in his nauseatingly swirl-covered costume.

She got up, the rings at her own costume’s hips making a scraping noise against the fabric of the chair. "You know I'm not Shalice. It's not like I follow you around waiting for you to rob a bank. We need to trust each other." 

"Oh, I trust you, Aurora. I'm here solely for your _scintillating_ group therapy. It's so much more interesting than my court ordered sessions! Maybe this week they'll try to sacrifice you again. They are _so_ inspiring, artistically."

"Your paintings are shit," said Aurora. "Try being inspired by kittens instead."

Jean-Pierre barked with laughter.

"Certainly! My masterwork, 'Kittens in Yarn', will be dedicated to you, my muse. It will be unveiled at the senior citizens’ centre, alongside the jigsaw puzzles!" He adjusted his goggles. "Shall we?"

"We shall. Inst'Igat should be subdued by now after her little tantrum. She's a real piece of work."

"Why do all the two-bit villains go after you?" asked Jean-Pierre as he held the door. "I'm classically beautiful too, you know."

"Price of trying to make a difference, Jean-Pierre. People take offense pretty easy."

They walked down the hall to the group therapy room. Jean-Pierre made an exaggerated shrug. "Then I shall remain at headquarters. Everyone's minds are so _loud_ out here, anyway."

"It's quieter when you're not in a prison ward," she said. "Strangely."

"So you say. Oh good, they set up the chairs for us this time. You could have the courtesy to hold your sessions in the park. That would cut down on the noise."

Aurora pulled her therapy room chair to where she liked it. The room was devoid of any potential weapons besides the chairs, having only lights and a long one-way mirror for monitoring her safety. 

"Devouring Earth would ambush us and convert my patients," she said.

"Happens every time," said Jean-Pierre. "Someone should do something."

"We're just holding out for heroes," she said. "I hear the group coming. Behave yourself and this time, actually interfere if someone tries to knife me."

The group therapy session was typical, focusing on the evergreen issue: namely, how it felt to give up all identity and will to a more powerful psychic force.

The Lost that made up the group had all volunteered for her sessions. Some wanted to heal. Some wanted to convince her she was wrong. Some just wanted a connection again. They were all in various stages of Rikti 'evolution'. Every chair was in use.

Aurora would let her powers drift during the session, cutting the ties of the Rikti Hivemind that still grasped at the changed brains of the Lost. Each one of them had their own psychic potential now, and she felt it was her duty to help them develop it safely.

Aurora sat with her back to the mirror. Jean-Pierre stood at the opposite end of the room, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He looked artfully, and Frenchfully, disinterested. Not that it was easy to tell with those goggles of his.

His position, though, let her see they had the same physical tic. As the Lost testified about feeling the Rikti seize control, Aurora and Jean-Pierre's hands would clench. 

She knew why she did it - it was her way of confirming to herself that she still controlled her body, that it was hers. She didn't know if it was the same with Jean-Pierre, or just anger. She'd never asked. But as if on cue, their hands would twitch at the same time. 

She knew if Sister Psyche had needed her body to survive, she would have given it without hesitation. But a small part of herself, one she kept quiet and out of sight, was glad it wouldn’t happen ever again.

She had mixed feelings about that quiet, out of sight part.

Right now, one of her older patients, Kei'Th, was talking about the ecstasy of the RIkti Hivemind. Not a trace of regret in his voice.

Jean-Pierre and Aurora's hands clenched, tight.

"But…" Kei'Th concluded, "my true place is with the Traditionalists, once the time for my crime is served."

Aurora's fist stayed closed, but she made a point of nodding approvingly.

C'Kelkah, leader of the Traditionalists, had extended an open invitation to those of the Lost who refused a cure - they wouldn't be full Rikti, but they would have a place among the Traditionalists. The responsibility of her people to bear, she'd said. Translated, of course.

Aurora hadn't expected the tears of joy when the imprisoned Lost got the offer. She'd been surprised. But there were many who saw it as their second chance, and their plans for their time with the Traditionalists was a frequent topic in group therapy.

She didn't understand it. Her husband, Calvin, simply said that the desire to belong was a powerful force. It was weeks since they'd had the conversation, but Aurora still wondered if that had been a pointed comment about her playing the hero among other metahumans in the Vindicators. People like her. Not safe in some office. As safe as any office was, in Paragon.

There was a nagging urgency at the edge of her expanded consciousness. She narrowed her eyes and focused.

It was Inst'Igat. But it wasn't anger, like Aurora would have expected after their earlier scuffle. Inst'Igat couldn't hurt Aurora now, not bound foot and hand with stasis cuffs. She'd begged to be allowed in the therapy session and Aurora had agreed, with the caveat that she be restrained. So far Inst'Igat, had said nothing during the session. 

But right now, terror was leaking out of Inst'Igat's mind, like ribbons of broken glass.

Aurora glanced over at Jean-Pierre. His face twitched, hard. 

'Wonderful,' thought Aurora, 'He's going to have an _episode_' She had to calm down Inst'Igat before she set off Jean-Pierre with the terrified psychic static. She turned to Int'Igat.

The mirror blew in.

Aurora woke up in a hospital bed. Not an unfamiliar experience.

Calvin was asleep in the chair beside her. Also not unfamiliar.

"Hey," croaked Aurora. 

His head jerked up. "Aurora!"

"What's the damage?" she asked. She hurt, but she couldn't figure out what had put her in the hospital. Nothing felt broken. 

Calvin grasped her hand. "How's your… you?" he asked instead of answering.

"Just me, sweetie?" said Aurora, cautiously. She didn't like having to reassure her husband that it was her looking out from her eyes. But that was how things were these days. 

Calvin let out a relieved sigh and stroked her cheek with his other hand. 

"You've got some cuts. But your mind… it was shut off. That's what one of those… awakened? The psychic officers. That's what they told me. We didn't know if you'd even wake up. I was so afraid, Aurora, I thought I'd lost you again!"

She squeezed his hand. "Well, you didn't."

She swallowed and forced herself to ask.

"The Lost? Are they…" 

"Gone," said Calvin.

"No!" said Aurora, "that isn't fair! They were healing, they had futures!"

"Not _dead_, Aurora. _Gone_. You were alone in the room."

Aurora tightened her grip on Calvin's hand. He winced, but didn't pull away. "Jean-Pierre?"

Calvin's expression twisted into disgust. "I think we both know why he wasn't there with you. I told you it was a mistake to let him back. People like him never change. Not really."

Aurora dropped her head onto her pillow. 'I'm here for your therapy'! Ha! That _asshole_.

"Classic Malaise," was what she said out loud. "How long was I out?"

"Nine hours," said her husband. "At least you caught up on your sleep."

Aurora pushed herself up on her elbows. "I need to tell Liberty I'm taking point on this. Those were _my_ patients."

"You don't have to," said Calvin. "You can just recover. You're still healing from the base invasion." He frowned, but he didn't move to stop her.

"I do have to. I was the one who let Malaise in there with me. This is my responsibility." Her costume and equipment were beside the hospital bed. She dug out her Vindicator communicator and started on her path of making things right.

One advantage of being a Vindicator was there was no shortage of talented heroes willing to lend a hand. She put out the call and it was answered. She hit the jackpot with a fledgling heroine (Ghost Light? Lantern? Lamp? She’d have to get the exact name, to send a thank you card if she survived this) who had data on the comings of goings of Lost cells with a sudden uptick of activity.

Aurora Borealis had already ruled out two. The latest one was here in Crey's Folly. It didn't look like a Lost hideout. It looked like an abandoned Crey lab. Nothing unusual in destroyed 'Venice'.

She crouched just out of view on some scaffolding, trying not to inhale the stinking polluted air of the hazard zone. 

She hadn't seen any Lost yet, but she had seen Crey employees (shock troopers, she thought) in their power suits, and at least three different Paragon Protectors in the the area. The abandoned Crey facility, it seemed, wasn't. She wasn't in the mood to see how politely they'd ask her to stay off company property if they caught her, so she stayed out of sight. 

She had more than her eyes to help find people - even heavily shielded Lost people. She let her mental tendrils extend outward--

\--and immediately snapped them back. Just under the surface of the Crey troops’ orderly behaviour was a roiling, boiling madness. 

Malaise _was_ here, and he was under their skin.

She paid closer attention to how the Crey moved. Now that she knew to look, they were like puppets on strings, like unwilling participants. She remembered how that looked, in videos she'd seen of her body's time as Sister Psyche's host.

It was not a pleasant thing to watch. 

She did the kind thing, dropping down in front of the door guards and knocking them out with a pair of powerful psychic bolts. Unconscious, they were their own. She stole the keycard off one and let herself in before company could join them.

Inside, she saw why her contact had identified this as a Lost hideout. Instead of the expected dusty, abandoned Crey-standard lab walls, it was covered in the detritus of a makeshift Lost city. But despite the abundance of shelters, there were no Lost to be seen. 

There were plasma burns on the walls, though and some of the structures were burnt or smashed. 

She had a feeling the Crey outside were recently arrived. She thought of contacting the rest of the Vindicators for back-up, but no, this was personal. And she was sick of people thinking she needed rescuing, after being the first notch on the ray gun for so many villains.

Her head felt like it was boiling over. Failure. Better as Sister Psyche's host. Holding back her team. Should never have trusted Jean-Pierre. She couldn't even protect her patients. Making a difference? What difference? The Vindicators wouldn't even come to help her if she called. They'd be better off with her dead.

She lurched and collapsed against the wall, holding her head. The cluttered hallways were pushing agaist her. 

Then, like a glinting piece of silver wire, a thought wormed its way into her head: 'At least I paint better than the Lost decorate.' 

Her head jerked up. The thread kept moving.

'Aurora, you might hate abstract art but not enough to leave me here, hm?'

"Jean-Pierre…?" she said, a whisper.

A bolt of pain blasted through her mind and she was sitting there in the hallway among the detritus, feeling more silly than ashamed. 

She picked up her communicator and called the Vindicators to come to her location. 

"Watch out for the Paragon Protectors. They aren't going to follow the company slogan about being here to help. But it's not their fault," she said.

"Hang tight, Aurora-girl," said Mynx over the communicator. "And you know I don't mind an excuse to knock Crey head."

"Yeah, you have fun, Mynx. I'll be waiting," she said, and clicked off the communicator.

She didn't say _where_ she'd be waiting. She felt an invisible timer counting down as she made her way through the Lost shanty town. Crey Labs had only a few layouts, and she knew this one. The action was only a few floors away.

She heard Malaise with her ears before her mind.

He was babbling, in French, sharp disjointed words. Ranting, pleading, and threatening. She looked in.

An enormous Rikti stood watching impassively while Lost swarmed around on the lab equipment, an unholy merger of Crey and Rikti tech. She saw medi-porters off to the side. They looked just like the hospital ones, except these bore the mark of CreyCorp. 

Malaise was in the middle of an energy cage, staying away from the bars as he spouted nonsense-to Aurora's limited French-at the Rikti. Against the far wall she could see what might have been people, once. The shapes looked organic. They weren't moving.

She bit back a scream as something touched her elbow. She whipped around, purple hair hitting her face from the force of her spin, but two malformed hands gripped her wrists before she could attack.

"No Words: Pleading." It was Inst'Igat. She wasn't gripping Aurora hard enough to hurt, so Aurora kept quiet as asked, but mentally building up power for a psychic scream.

Inst'Igat tugged her away from the working Lost.

"Tried: Interfere," said the Lost. "Unholy Merger: Dra'Gon Plans."

"What?" said Aurora. Inst'Igat let go of her wrists.

"Dead: Believes You. Malaise: Using Instead. Psychic Amplification: Melding Of Minds." Inst'Igat pointed at the medi-ports, then at Malaise and Dra'Gon.

"But…"

"First: Not. Psychics: Process Tested Successfully," said Inst'Igat. Aurora felt sick. "Lost: Fodder." 

Inst'Igat put a hand on Aurora's shoulder. "Target: You. You: Saved Inst'Igat. Once: Katie Nelson. You Came: When Vahzilok Took. Payback: You. Dead: Better Than This."

Aurora pushed Inst'Igat's hand aside. "I have a better solution than killing me or Malaise. And you can help me, Katie, if you really want to pay me back." She could feel the two madnesses clearly now: Malaise's, tinged with panic and loss of control, and Dra’Gon’s poisoning, puppeting madness. 

'Of course,' thought Aurora, 'I suppose even at his worst, Malaise has limits.'

Inst'Igat slammed a hand against her own chest. "Destiny: Greater Than Fodder. You: Aid Sworn."

Aurora nodded. "I need you to clear out the Lost. Me and Dra'Gon… we're going to have words."

Aurora knew for certain she wouldn't win in a toe-to-toe with the massive Rikti, but she also knew he wouldn't consider her telekinetically ripping out the medi-porters and slamming them into his head a victory.

Also, whatever side Malaise was on in full madness, it wasn't Dra'Gon's. His cage, disconnected by a flying key piece of medi-port, gave Dra'Gon a whole other purple swirly problem to deal with.

She'd have to have a talk with Vanguard how long Dra'Gon had been free without their informing anyone. 

Between her and Malaise psychically ripping apart Dra'Gon, she barely had time to notice Inst'Igat alternating between fighting and allying with the other Lost. She did, however,notice nothing had shot her in the back. She appreciated that. 

Somewhere in the confusion, the other Vindicators burst in. By the end, several of the Lost, including Inst'Igat, had escaped and Dra'Gon had lost his upper hand to a smashing blow from Valkyrie's spear.

The Vindicators stood in the middle of the destroyed laboratory, breathing hard and victorious.

Infernal had Malaise off the ground in a bearhug as Malaise kicked and cursed. But he was staying out of everyone's heads, and Aurora would take whatever positive she could.

The bits she understood didn't make sense, same as before. Jean-Pierre was still in his dark place. She knew how easy it would be to just reach in and force him out, like Shalice had done all those years ago.

She didn't.

"Jean-Pierre, you're safe. He didn't get you. You're still… we're both still free. “Aurora reached out to touch him on his shoulder, moving from the side to avoid his legs. Infernal bent his knees to help her reach.

"We're all here, buddy," said Ms. Liberty. "We came to save you."

Jean-Pierre's struggling slowed down. Breathing heavily, he started to go limp.

"You don't deal with stress that well, do you, Jean-Pierre?" said Aurora.

"Well, you'd go mad too if a Rikti wanted to eat your brains," he muttered, head hanging. "I'm tired. I want to go home."

"So you really _do_ like my therapy?" asked Aurora.

"No, it was all an elaborate plot to get kidnapped. Of course!" 

She grinned. "Come on, these guys can wait for the police. Let's get back to the base."


End file.
